The Fall of the Kingdom of Prussia
by TronaRi05
Summary: It's been centuries since the disbandment of the Kingdom of Prussia. Everything was fine and Prussia hadn't disappeared, not like Germany and the Roman Empire. "He wouldn't disappear." Was the wishful thinking his friends held on to, but Prussia himself knew better...
1. Last Journal Entry

_Dear diary, _

_It seems…lately there has been a pain in my chest where my heart is. It isn't just when I see Hungary and Austria together anymore, but it haunts me in my sleep. I wake up at night, clutching my chest in hopes that it'll go away. I know what you're thinking, the awesome me can't possibly get sick. It's true though, diary. Gilbird…I haven't seen him in a couple weeks, but I hear him. I see his shadow just outside my window, but when I got there, the only thing I see is him flying off into the woods nearby. What is happening to me?_

_Ah…the pain in my chest again. Is this how the Roman Empire felt when he disappeared? Was this how my grandpa, Germania, felt? Am I…am I dying? I don't want these horrible thoughts, diary, but they just seem to haunt me endlessly. Day in and day out. I try not to let West see my pain whenever it does strike. My face goes pale and my smile falters. I know West notices, he even asked me once, but I said it was because I drank too much and I was getting a little faint. Whenever I see France and Spain, they always ask me if I was sick and I say persistently that I am not…even so. _

_Today, I met up with that annoying brat America. I'm not even sure why, but…something told me that I should. He has really grown since the Revolutionary War. I haven't seen him much since then, besides the World Meetings which I occasionally tag along to. He's become more obnoxious. Every three minutes, he'd ask me to tell about how it was like in the "old days" and beg me to tell him stories of how England and the others are like. I told him what I knew, which wasn't very much, but he seemed quite satisfied to know it at least. That smile on his face…it was so much different from during the Revolution. His eyes shone a crystal blue, the color of the sky which cared so much for his people. _

_When I had begun to leave…America called me back. He took one good look at me and pulled me into a genuine hug, then let go and smiled, saying, "Let's hang out again tomorrow!" I said that I'll be back, having nothing better to do. Now…I'm not quite sure if I'll even make it through the night. _

_Since I've gotten home, there's been an aching pain in my chest. It's intensified so much and it burns like the raging fire of Jean d'Arc. If France ever read this comparison, I know he'd go on a rampage. He'd probably kill me even, that is if he had the guts to go against the awesome me. In all seriousness though…my time has come. I'll be seeing Germania soon…as well as the Roman Empire. If I don't make it…I just want to say goodbye. And that I'll miss everyone. Germany, Hungary, Spain, France, even Austria. Goodbye, my friends._

* * *

Germany found his brother later that night with his head on his journal and the lights on. He sighed at his elder brother's foolishness. This has happened many times before. His brother falling asleep while writing about how "awesome" he is in his daily journal entries. Germany slowly and quietly entered Prussia's room and shook him lightly.

"Bruder," Germany said softly, "bruder, if you sleep here like this you'll catch a cold."

The older nation didn't move. He didn't budge.

"Bruder?" Germany said, a bit louder, thinking maybe Prussia just had a long day.

Germany reached out to touch Prussia's face. Cold to the touch, nearly like the snow of Russia. Germany stumbled back a few, small steps. Gradually sinking to the ground beside his brother's dead body, he buried his face into his hands.

"Bruder...Prussia..."Germany chocked out his brother's many names. His sobs filled the large house which he had shared with his brother for so many years-centuries. The times they had spent together, getting drunk and spending the night playing useless games that neither of them remembered in the mornings. Those memories...they were still there, but the person that Germany had created them with was no longer. "Gilbert...oh Gilbert. Don't leave me...please...don't leave me. I'm sorry for what i've said to you, just...don't."

Austria appeared at the door of Prussia room, having come back to Germany's house to retrieve his music which he had forgotten. The aristocrat rushed over to Germany's side, "What's wrong?"

Germany looked up at Austria with his tear stained face. A face that had only been showed at the end of the second world war.

"He's...he's dead."


	2. The Funeral

The clouds that hung over the grave were dark and heavy with tears of Heaven. The Nations that gathered respectfully hung their head low, waiting for the priest to start his speech. There was a slight breeze that came from the east which created the quiet rustle of the leaves from the trees. Other than that, it was silent. A type of silent that Gilbert Beilshmidt would have hated to witness.

Hungary clung silently to Austria's black coat and Austria put a protective arm over her shoulder, his eyes stinging with tears. Germany's head hung low, avoiding the gaze of the other countries who had tried to comfort him to no avail. Spain had lost his usual glimmer in his eye, the one that would be able to light up any gloomy room. France had been quiet since he had heard that his dear friend had passed on. Not a single word came from his mouth and no one was able to change that.

You see, it had been centuries since the disbandment of the Kingdom of Prussia. All was fine and Germany and the others had thought "He's not going to disappear like Roman Empire had, or Germania". Prussia himself though had not alluded himself away from the possibility of that happening. He knew that some day, even if it was thousands upon thousands of years from then, that he would no longer be. The possibility had still lingered in the older nations mind, and that was apparent in his journals that he wrote daily until that day.

All of the countries had been hit hard. They hadn't forgotten that Prussia was no longer an empire or a country. It was just that…his people-his descendants-had held on for so long, keeping up their strength. There wasn't a doubt in anyone's mind that one day, Prussia might become a country again. That was before the storm hit and news was told of the nation's death.

The one that was hit the hardest was Germany. It had been three weeks since he had discovered the corpse of his brother and he hadn't eaten at all. He had drunk water, but he hadn't touched a single plate of food Hungary prepared. Besides water, he consumed beer. Jugs upon jugs until the day of the funeral. Italy had tried to comfort him, offer him pasta even, but it was no use. Germany had withdrawn into a state of distraught confusion and anger.

As the priest spoke, Germany rarely acknowledged his words. Something about how great Prussia was. Was? Is. He still is great. The priest continued on to talk about how well he had done to raise Germany and how he had been a good big brother. Had been. Those words pierced Germany's heart. Prussia was still alive, he had to be. He wasn't dead, he was probably just playing around and he'll jump out somewhere and scare everyone. That's what he'd do. That's what Ludwig's big brother, Gilbert, would do.

"Ludwig," Austria said, his voice stern beside him, "It's our turn…"

Germany snapped out of his trance, everyone's eyes bore into him. He stood up, slightly wobbling on his two feet as he made his way up to the podium, where Hungary stood. Austria took his place next to Hungary, who was first to speak.

"Prussia…he's an amazing person as we all know," Hungary said. "Charming, annoying though, and optimistic. He's…he's survived so long even without his people or his land…it really is honorable…"

The words were droned out by the waves in Germany's mind. Every time Hungary spoke: _crash._ Every time something was said about Prussia: _crash._ Up until the end, when it was finally Germany's turn.

Germany leaned against the podium for support. He felt nervous, something he hadn't felt since he was young. He hadn't prepared a speech, had the others? He hadn't noticed. "Um…I…Prussia was my brother. He raised me when I was young and did his best to treat me like a regular brother would if I had been a regular child. He taught me how to fight, how to hunt. He taught me how to laugh and have fun, things I rarely did with all the stress of being an empire."

There were a few mumbles of agreement.

"He…he guided me in the best route he could choose. Up until…_that_. He couldn't have stopped me and in turn…I hurt him. I should have shouldered that blame, but he knew I wouldn't have been able to stand it…it stripped him of his people and his wealth. His title as an empire. He was nothing, but he still smiled," Germany felt tears stinging his eyes, threatening to fall. "He still smiled. When I was afraid that he was going to disappear right before my eyes, he said "Don't worry. I'm not going to leave you alone until I know this mess has been cleared up". As you might know…recently I've finished paying off some debts. I know I shouldn't assume things, but…starting then, even though Prussia seemed to have a large weight lifted off his shoulders, he seemed to look sick. His skin was paler than regular and he looked like he never had enough sleep, though he always slept early when it wasn't the weekends. I just…I regret."

German chocked up, staring down at his hands as the tear rolled down his cheeks. He felt Hungary's arms wrap around him and she cooed comfortingly into his ear and slowly stroked his broad back.

He felt himself being slowly eased off stage. He didn't know what happened next, because he blanked out.


	3. Unable to Cry

Austria sat in his music room, dusting off his piano. It was cleaning day and he wanted to get rid of whatever was not needed. Hungary, although she lived in her own house now, helped Austria out anyway, taking the upstairs. Downstairs, Austria went through his music files and whistled a small tune. He had invited Germany to help clean as well, to take off memories from Prussia. Germany had refused though, saying he had political business to deal with.

"Ouch!" Austria said, landing flat on his face. He rubbed the bridge of his nose, taking off his cracked glasses, "Who would put something in the middle of the…"

Austria sat up, carefully picking up the instrument. An electric guitar. Completely standing out from it's classical setting. It was a flaming red electric guitar with a sticker on it, shaped like Gilbird. The instrument looked like it had been touched only a few days before, though Austria knew it really hadn't been in a month now.

The aristocrat sat cross-legged, stroking the strings of the modern instrument. Austria never understood why Prussia like practicing his modern music in his music room. Maybe it was the sound of it that satisfied the airhead idiot. Or maybe it was the view of the gardens. Whatever it was, Prussia's instruments and guitar tabs littered nearly every corner of the room. From a saxophone to an electric guitar and it's amplifier, Austria had all of Prussia's favorite instruments.

"Roderich, where do you want…" Hungary stopped short at the doorway.

Silent tears rolled down Austria's cheeks, splattering the guitar and dirtying his jeans that he wore. He quickly rubbed them away and looked up at Hungary.

"What? What is it?" Austria asked.

"Roderich are you-"

"I'm fine. I just…I tripped over the idiot's guitar," Austria explained, moving it away and putting it on the guitar stand nearby, "and I broke my glasses. There was a bit of dust that flew in and…it got in my eyes."

"Oh…oh I see," Hungary smiled slightly, "Okay. Um…I wanted to ask you what you wanted to do with this photo album?"

Austria's eyes landed on the dusty old photo album that was a collection of memories before, with small portraits as well.

"Put it on the shelf, over there," Austria said, pointing to the black bookshelf which reached from floor to roof.

"Alright," Hungary said.

There was some shuffling, then silence.

Austria straightened up, looking at Hungary's hunched form. He slowly walked over to her, "Elizaveta? Are you okay…"

His voice trailed off as he noticed the slight tremor going through Hungary's form. "You're not okay…"

"I thought I could be strong," she whispered weakly, her voice wavering from the tears. "I thought…maybe I could tough it out like I had done back in the days."

"I know," Austria comforted, slowly pulling Hungary into a comforting, platonic embrace.

"I thought, maybe it would be better with out his annoying voice," Hungary said, now sobbing gently into Austria's chest.

"Sshh…sshh," Austria cooed.

"But…that's not true! Oh, Roderich…I miss him," Hungary said. "We were…we were childhood friends. I knew him for so long and the history the three of us had as well…"

"I know, I know," Austria whispered, burying his head into Hungary's shoulders to keep his emotions in check.

"And…I loved him," Hungary whispered.

"Yes, I know," Austria nodded, feeling tears well up in his eyes. "He may have been annoying…but he was still a good friend."

"Roderich…I miss him so much," Hungary cried, "So much that my heart hurts every time I think about him. I tried so hard to forget too and-"

"Ssshh," Austria hushed her gently, "Quiet now Elizaveta. It's okay…you can talk it out if you need…it won't hurt once you do. Do you want me to call Poland?"

Hungary pulled her head away from Austria and shook her head, "No…don't call Feliks…I want to talk to you right now. Because we both had the same relationship with him."

Austria smiled, stroking Hungary's cheeks and brushing her hair away from her beautiful green eyes. "Okay, just don't cry anymore…or else Gilbert will be sad as well."

Hungary giggled, "You too."

"What're you saying," Austria said, slowly guiding her over to the piano bench and sitting down next to her, "He'd probably laugh in my face and say 'Suck it you stupid aristocrat! You do care about me'. Something like that."

Hungary gripped the photo album as she smiled a painfully nostalgic smile. She slowly opened the album, brushing her fingers against the modern pictures. The more recent once from a few hundred years earlier. Most were taken by Austria, but there were a few by Hungary.

Mostly pictures of a drunken Prussia being smacked in the face by a flustered Hungary, or maybe drunken Prussia babbling to Germany or Austria. There were a few where he was listening to England's drunken rambles instead. Pictures outside of the bar were ones that Austria was forced to take. They had gone to Paris for France's birthday and had taken pictures of him and Spain and France together. Hungary and Prussia in front of the Eiffel Tower and Austria with the two of them, France behind the camera.

The very end was a picture of Prussia, taking a picture of himself with Austria. Just before, was a group picture which was taken three months back of Germany, Austria, Switzerland, Liechtenstein, Hungary, and Prussia. All together in an awkward photo in the middle of the street where they had run into each other.

Hungary held back more tears, "Roderich…I feel weak."

"You aren't weak," Austria smiled, "You're just sentimental. No one ever realized it was his time to leave. Everyone was shocked and everyone cried, but you held it until you were only with me and I think that's enough."

"But…you," Hungary looked up at him, "You didn't cry at all."

"I hurt," Austria said, "I wish I could cry like you did. But I can't because those sentimental feelings are barely even there and that destroys me more than crying."

Hungary hugged Austria tightly, "You miss him too, don't you. A lot more than me?"

"I'm not sure," Austria smiled, "but each time I think of him pretending to be a rock star…it's too funny to comprehend. To think that this room will be silent now every time I come home from work…I can't bare it."

Hungary felt a soft splatter of water into her hair. She tightened her hug slightly, "It'll be fine…"

Austria looked away into the garden, "…I don't doubt that…but, how are the others coping?"


	4. Really Human

There was a slight knock on the door. France glanced up at it before returning to his wine, flipping through his magazine. The knock came again, more urgent this time and loud. It was as if whoever was on the other side was getting annoyed. Again, France ignored. Finally, there was a click and the door swung open.

"Mon ami," France said, turning slightly to look at the calm England. "I didn't hear you knock."

"Of course you didn't," England said, his eyes cold as he walked around the couch and sat down next to the slightly drunken nation. "So, why did you call me?"

"Call you? I called you?" France looked at him, confused.

England glared at France, "Yes you called me! You were talking in French and English at the same time and I could barely understand you because you kept slurring your words."

"Mon ami!" France said, throwing his arm over England's shoulders, "_You_ are drunk."

"France," England said wearily, "If that was just some stupid drunken prank call, I'm leaving. I have a meeting with the queen soon and I don't want to turn her down unless you are seriously in need."

As he said those words, England got up to leave.

"Right about now we'd be at the bar," France said, watching the red wine as he swirled the liquid.

"What?" England stopped in his tracks for the door, turning back to look at the other nation.

"We'd be at the bar, watching Prussia embarrass himself and try to pick up girls," France smiled, "then he'd hop up on stage and begin to DJ."

"France, is this about Prussia?" England asked, beginning to sit back down.

"No," France said, "It's about my friend."

England put his forehead to the palm of his hand.

"Would you like a drink, monsieur?" France asked, pouring the wine into another glass and holding it out for England.

England never really liked the way wine tasted, but he took the glass anyway, barely putting it to his lips to for a small sip.

"Hey, Artie," France said, drinking the whole glass in one gulp now.

"Don't call me that," England mumbled, giving France a side-glance to make sure he was holding okay.

France put the glass down, then stood up, going to his kitchen and then returning with a six pack of beer.

"This was Prussia's," he said, sitting down with a thud. "We'd always hang out here at my house and drink his beer. Spain would come with Romano sometimes and we'd all just have fun. When one person crashes, we'd draw on their face. I'm usually the last to, so I never had the trouble of worrying what I'd look like in the morning."

France looked at England with empty eyes, "Those days…they're not going to come back, are they?"

"Well," England leaned back, pulling out a pack of cigarettes, handing one to France and putting one in his own mouth. He lit it quickly and lit France's.

"What?" France urged, biting down on his cigarette.

England blew out a puff of smoke, "It depends on how you look at it. You'll still have Spain and Romano. It might be a bit different without Prussia."

"How different?"

"It might be…less awesome?" England said, shrugging as he blew another puff. He didn't usually smoke, but when things got awkward and he was stressed, that is how he relieved it.

France nodded, seemingly satisfied.

The two nations sat in silence until France popped open a beer bottle and handed one to England and opened another for himself.

"Well, that's that," France mumbled as he took a large swing.

"Are you serious?" England asked, "You're not going to sob or anything?"

"What's the point, we've been through enough deaths," France said bitterly, "We're nations."

"But isn't it different?" England said.

"Different? What do you mean?" France asked.

"It's _because_ we're nations that we've been through so many wars and so many deaths of our people. Isn't it different though…to learn that your own kind has died?" England said, leaning back, "Doesn't that…doesn't that make you wonder? What's on the other side, and How will God judge us?"

"Is it that different though?" France said.

"What?" England glanced at him.

"We're humans too though…in heart that is. Do you not pain over the deaths over your people?" France asked, agonizing.

"Of course I do."

"Isn't it painful?" France said.

"Of course it is."

"Don't…don't you feel bad when someone close to you, that's human, dies?" France asked, looking England straight in the face.

England looked away, "Um…yes."

"How is it different from the death of Prussia then?" France asked.

England knew full-well what he was suggesting, but he tried not to look as ashamed as he felt. "Well, Prussia…he's been around for awhile and-"

"England," France interrupted.

"Yes?"

"I can't…this is something I won't be able to forget for awhile," France said.

England glanced over at France and saw that he was crying.

"Oh, god…Francis," England put the cigarette out in the pan. He hesitantly pulled France close as France buried his face in England's coat.

"I can't do this," France bawled, "I really can't. I've only…I've only really had two people I cared about."

"I know," England sighed. "I know."

"Prussia…he was…he wasn't really a good friend, but when it can down to it, he could such…a great friend," France said, covering his mouth. "I'm sorry England."

"It's okay," England mumbled.

"You…now that they're both gone," France said, looking up at him, "Believe it or not, you're the only one I really trust now."

England wrapped his arms around France's shoulder into a tight embrace, "I'm sorry for what I did."

"She would have of old age anyway," France cried. "You only-"

"No, it's my fault," England mumbled.

"…humph," France let out an unamused laugh. "We _are_ humans."

"Huh, definitely," England said.

"Comfort me," France looked up into England's green eyes.

"France," England said, his voice hallow.

"I'm joking," France pulled himself off of England, "Thank you, Mon Ami."

He kissed England on the cheek and laid his head on his England's lap.

"Francis-"

"They used to let me do this," France said. "When I'm drunk."

"You're not drunk," England was what he wanted to say, but before he could, France's breathing evened out and it was apparent that he was asleep.


	5. Afraid to Disappear

Romano carefully picked his way through the labyrinth of bottles and cans. It had been building up since news had gotten to Spain about Prussia's death. Romano hadn't worried about it too much, but now that he was visiting a few weeks later, he regretted his decision of thinking that Spain would snap out of his depression. Even Italy, his brother, hadn't(though Romano figured it was probably the influence of the stupid potato loving bastard).

"Spain, are you here?" Romano called into the seemingly empty house. "Some of these bottles are glass Spain, what if your turtles get hurt?"

There wasn't a response, but as Romano got closer to the rooms, he heard quiet sobbing. Slowly and softly, Romano opened up the door and crept in. He closed it behind him and walked over to Spain, who was curled on his bed with a large stuffed animal of a turtle that someone had won for him at a fair.

"Hey bastard," Romano said, kneeling down slightly beside Spain's bed, "You okay?"

Spain shook his head, his body shaking from crying.

"You're drunk, aren't you?" Romano sighed. "Normally, if you weren't you'd just shake it off and fake a smile. How long have you been drinking?"

Spain shook his head again.

"If you weren't a nation, you should be in the hospital by now," Romano said, scolding him gently.

"Romano," Spain whispered.

"Hm?" Romano replied sharply.

"It hurts," Spain said.

"You're saying it like you haven't seen the deaths of nations before," Romano mumbled.

"I have," Spain said, "and each time the pain grows."

"What do you mean?" Romano asked.

"…Romano, each time a nation die everyone's bond to wonder one thing," Spain said, looking up slightly, "'Who's next?'"

"Are you worried that you are?" Romano asked.

"I'm not worried about that. I'm worried that one of my friends will leave me again," Spain said. "The wars have worn down many of the strongest bonds. Even Germany and Italy and Japan; do you think Germany still completely trusts Italy and Japan after World War 2? It's kind of impossible. After so many wars, none of us unconditionally trust anymore. The one person that we could though, was Prussia. You know why?"

"Because…he wasn't a nation anymore, but he still hadn't faded," Romano said, looking down at his hands.

"Exactly," Spain said. "Everyone could consult him, because he _wasn't in_ the wars anymore. Nearly everyone trusted him, save a few who held horrible grudges for decades. Everyone would tease him about not being a nation anymore, but he'd just laugh it off and say that the blood of his people was still strong."

Spain buried his head into the turtle, "That's why everyone had faith in him. He wasn't a nation anymore, but he could never be a regular human too."

"Spain," Romano said, "stop."

"I'm not afraid of dying," Spain said, "I'm afraid of people leaving me…and I'm afraid of leaving behind people I love."

Romano pulled Spain into a seemingly grudging hug, but his eyes brimmed with tears, "…I miss him too. I really do."

Spain's sobs grew louder and Romano tried his best to comfort the older country which had watched over him since he was little, but to no avail. Soon though, Spain fell into a restless sleep. Romano left a small note on his bedside, saying that he better not mess up all the effort he had put into clearing out his house of bottles, and then he left for home where he had to deal with another depressed soul.

* * *

Romano found his brother, Italy, in the kitchen when he got home. He wasn't eating pasta though, he just sat at the table, flipping through the cook book with his eyes somewhat red.

"What's up with you?" Romano asked, causing Italy to jump and nearly fall out of his chair.

"Oh! Fratello!" Italy said, quickly wiping his eyes, "I was just…I was…Um…How's Spain?"

"He cried himself to sleep," Romano sighed, sitting across from Italy and pulling the book towards him. "Are you looking for a recipe to cheer up Germany?"

"Huh? I mean, yeah!" Italy nodded frantically, his curl bouncing.

"Hm," Romano said, trying to sound uninterested. "Are you sure?"

"Y-yeah!" Italy said, "Germany. And Austria…and Miss Hungary…"

Romano risked a glance up and noticed that Italy was starting to cry again.

"Prussia…he never really like Mister Austria," Italy said, his voice wavering, "but when I was there, when I was little and when Mister Austria was taking care of me…Prussia would come over and visit Holy Rome. Whenever I walked near them, I would see how much Holy Rome smiled and…it just warmed my heart, but when he went off to war…Prussia had rushed over and frantically called for his little fratello. To no avail of course, because Holy Rome had already left."

"Oh Italy," Romano mumbled, reaching over and giving his brother's hand a tight squeeze.

"Then…then when I met Germany…he was so much like Holy Rome," Italy said, "for just a second, I had thought it was Holy Rome when he was older. His personality wasn't exactly much different, just firmer and more like a man's. After and sort of during the wars…Prussia was such a good big brother to Germany. He was against Nazism though," Italy said, somewhat choking out the N word. "He and Germany would get into little fights, but he would always give up in the end, seeing how useless it was."

"Italy-"

"And then when the time came," Italy said, looking Romano in the eyes, "Let me tell you a small secret."

Romano held his breath, waiting.

"Germany was supposed to be the one that was going to be disbanded," Italy said, "but Prussia…he couldn't let that happen, you know? I watched him go to the base of the Allies. When he came back out, he had a satisfied look on his face, but his red eyes didn't have that glimmer."

Italy began to cry, silent tears running down his face, "I was so glad when he hadn't disappeared like Grandpa Rome and Holy Rome had…I was so glad…"

Romano walked around the table and hugged his brother, "Felinciano…"

"Huh? Oh…I'm crying," Italy laughed, his voice wavering now. "I'm…crying."


	6. For You, My Teacher

America strolled the streets of New York, smiling and nodding and anyone who walked by. He hadn't been in the good old streets in a long time and today, Canada and England were coming over. France couldn't make it because he was still in his depression, but all was fine. America didn't want a spoil sport like him at the moment.

When he got to his apartment, he opened the door and wasn't surprised to see Canada and England talking casually as if they weren't in someone else's house.

"Hello!" America called out, smiling.

"Oh, America," England said, sounding surprised.

"Dude, what's with that attitude? This is my house, did you not expect to see me or something?" America laughed, settling down next to Canada.

"No it's just…" England looked troubled, "You…Never mind."

America shrugged, smiling, he looked at Canada, "So, has Cuba mistaken you for me today?"

"No…not yet in the past few weeks," Canada said, looking at America with the same worried eyes.

"Oh, is that so?" America laughed again, "Well that's good at least. It'd be bad if you were all bruised up and stuff. I would be mad and then I would go and beat that idiot Cuba up."

"America, are you alright?" England asked, leaning on his knees and looking at America.

"I'm fine," America said, his voice sounding truly puzzled, "What's wrong with the two of you?"

"It's just…at the funeral," Canada said, his voice softer than usual when around America and England, "When I looked at you…you weren't crying. You didn't really look sad, but you didn't smile either."

"What?" America cocked an eyebrow at the two of them. "What are you guys talking about? Why would I be crying? I appreciate the dude, but I was never really close to him."

"America," England said wearily.

Before England could complete what he was trying to say, there was a knock on the door. America got up and went over to open it.

France stood, leaning against the wall, big box in his hands and a somewhat sour look on his face. The sour look cleared when the door opened. He smiled, "America."

"France," America said, surprised, "um…come in."

France moved in, putting down the box. He smiled slightly at America, "These…um…Germany told me that we could barrow these for a bit."

"What are they?" Canada asked, curiously leaning over.

"They're…Prussia's journals," France said. "Um…the last month was the month he wrote most about the four of us…"

"Ooh! So we get to read them?" America asked, picking up one, "He write every day right?"

"Yup," France nodded. "There's only three from last month, but Germany gave me the whole box from this year so far."

"Oh, this one's about you Mattie," America said, holding up the first one of the trilogy of the month. "Dear Awesome me…."

* * *

_Dear Awesome Me,_

_Today, wasn't very entertaining. West was busy with his government and then Italy came over when he was free, so I decided to go on a tour of North America! Well, not all of it. Just Canada and America. I went over to Canada's house and he looked somewhat worried when he saw me. He was all 'America lives a little lower south.' I told him that I wasn't here for America and that I just wanted to talk to him. His face lit happy for some odd reason. He kept going on about how I hadn't forgotten him or mistaken him for America and I said that it was obvious he was not America. Because he had silky hair and it was kind of longer. The bear, Kumajiro or something, stood behind Canada and silently looked up at me. It creeped me out to be completely honest. _

_Canada invited me in and we ate pancakes together! It was delicious and the homemade maple syrup plus the homemade pancakes was superb! When I asked him how he made it so delicious he just blushed and showed me the recipe. I will try to make these pancakes at a later date, when West is less busy and he can actually enjoy them! That is all for today, me. Sincerely, the Awesome Prussia._

* * *

"Sincerely the Awesome Prussia," America read. He looked at Canada, "So that's what he was doing before he came over!"

"Is there an entry on you, America?" England asked curiously.

"Yeah, the next day," America said, glancing over the back. "I was only mentioned briefly though because I was jogging through the woods…"

* * *

_Dear Awesome Me!_

_I ran into America today! I was on my way to America(the actual land) when I spotted him. He was jogging in the woods of Canada in a black running outfit and everything! He had a towel around hi neck and a reusable water bottle in his hand! He didn't seem to be having too much trouble, so I stopped him. He looked happy to see me, as he was always happy. He wasn't wearing his glasses and his blue eyes shone brightly with prosperous promise, but he was kind of skinny. Too skinny for a boy who ate hundreds of hamburgers everyday. Perhaps it was his economy?_

_He greeted me happily with a "Hey dude what's up?" We talked about his economy and then we moved on to the subject of food. He kept taking about coke and Pepsi and Mcdonalds and Burger King. He said that Taco Bell was okay too and that Tony really liked Mcdonalds. When I asked him who Tony was, I got the confusing answer of "He's my alien friend dude!" Well, that's really all for today. Sincerely, the Awesome Prussia!"_

* * *

"Sincerely the awesome Prussia!" America read. He smiled, looking satisfied.

After reading what Prussia had to say about France and England, they divided up the pile into three, already organized by Germany. America looked at them, then smiled, "Well, I guess I don't get one."

"No, you get this one," England said.

America looked at it, then up at England, "This looks really new."

"That's because that's the last journal Prussia ever wrote," England said, his voice bitter. "He started a new journal with the last entry of his life."

America glanced at it again, then up at the other three, "Oh is that so! This one mentions me right?"

England felt tears form in his eyes and felt a hand on his shoulder.

"Yeah," France nodded, looking about as bad as England was. "If you'll excuse us, we're leaving now."

France, England and Canada all left as soon as America bid his farewell.

Once America heard the zoom of all three cars, he sat down on his couch and read the last entry in the sea of empty pages.

"'Let's hang out again tomorrow!' …Heh…" America took his glasses off, covering his face, "Why had I even said that?"

He set Texas on the coffee table and laid down on the couch, "…Why had even I said that?…Why had I said that when I knew…that he wouldn't even have a tomorrow."

America closed his eyes, remembering Prussia comforting embrace during the Revolutionary War. When he had almost broken down because he hadn't been sure if he really wanted to be an independent country anymore after seeing all his men die.

"_You will be the greatest country of all. I just know it. So cheer up, you sore slug! Once you beat that old man England all the way to Japan, you'll be the hero! Of course, you will never be more awesome than me though_," was what had been said that day.

The hug that had been given the weeks earlier had been a silent thank you and a pray that this once magnificent country won't fade. America closed his eyes, feeling warm tears trail down his face. He rolled onto his side, sniffling.

"I'm sorry…" America mumbled, "I didn't live up to what you had expected Prussia. I'll be better now though. I'll be better for the world. For you-my teacher. Wherever you are right now, I hope you're still looking over me."

America bit his lower lip and said, a little louder, "and Germany."


	7. Remember--Berlin

_Dear West, _

_I know you're probably sick and tired of me saying this to you every day, but Ich liebe dich, mein kleiner Bruder. I've always had and that won't change. Heh…I remember when you were small and you depended on me so much back then. You were such a crybaby too. I know you think I'm always going to be there for you, and I'll try, but sometimes…you'll have to face your own problems too. Alone. Are you understanding me, West? One day…it might not be soon, but one day…I'm entrusting you with my entire kingdom. I'm growing weak and old, West. I feel my chest clench over the slightest of injuries. When the time comes, I will dissolve and pass on. When that time comes, please do not cry. You are strong West and I will always be there to watch over you. Also, promise me one thing…live, West. Live for the both of us. Please promise me this, Deustchland. _

_-Deine Bruder,_

_Preußen_

Germany read the letter over in silence. It was dated back in the time before Germany had officially become a country. When he had just been a collection of states, really. Prussia had written this, so many years in advanced, but he had never given it to his brother-to Germany. Now…it was too late. If only Germany had found the letter earlier, maybe he could have saved his brother from dissolving. Maybe, instead of his own country, he could have helped Prussia rebuild his empire to it's former glory.

Germany had always believed that Prussia would be by him. Always. He was there during the second world war, when he had been punished severely. Prussia had been disbanded in Germany's place, Germany knew this. Even after, his older brother had been with him to cheer him up. To think that Germany had found him annoying…it was now something he had regretted. It wasn't that Prussia was a good-for-nothing-none-nation. He only tried to distract Germany because he knew that his little bruder was stressed out. That he needed something to take out those feelings on.

"Preußen…" Germany mumbled, running his hand through his messy blonde hair. "You said you'd always be there for me…why did you have to choose now to leave me. I thought…heh…I probably shouldn't have thought that though. Thinking that you'd always be by my side…I should know by now, that nothing is eternal. Now even nation's promises."

Germany got up slowly, accidentally knocking over the envelope. He knelt down to pick it up, noticing another letter inserted so that it could barely be seen in it.

_Oh, have you found the second part to this letter now? I always knew you were a smart child. Or you might not have noticed and you accidentally dropped the envelope. I didn't really want you to read this part, so once I'm done writing it, I will hide it in the envelope in an extremely awesome, yet clever way. _

_Heh…I know that you've always been guilty about the disbandment of Prussia. Trust me, it was never really your fault. But…at that time, I did blame you. When they had said "_The Kingdom of Prussia is now disbanded_", when I heard those words…I hated you from the bottom of my heart. The days I spent with Russia were cold and they hurt horribly. He was never kind about it. When the Wall of Berlin was built, it felt like a part of me was blocked from the world. In a way, I was grateful for Russia's senseless beatings. They were the only thing that rooted me to this world. In days where he didn't take his anger out on me or any of the others, it was fun, but it wasn't the same. _

_I missed you, mein kleiner Bruder. I truly did. That was when I realized that, you weren't at all to blame. I had lived my life as well, it was time for you to live yours and…let's face it, I was never really good a running a country and the only reason I stood was because of my rulers. I'm sorry for ever blaming you and don't treat yourself too harshly. _

_Like I stated in the letter years before, I do hope that you will take care of what once had been my empire. My time with you is done, Deustchland. _

Silent tears fell from Germany's face until he heard a loud bang from outside. He jumped, running to his window and seeing a strange man with a somewhat small frame, standing just outside in the garden, though his back was turned towards the window. Germany rushed down and to the garden, grabbing the man's arm and turning him around.

"What are you doing on my property?" Germany growled.

The man had white hair that slightly covered his red eyes that twinkled with mischief. He looked about seventeen or eighteen. He looked at Germany with superiority, flinging off Germany's grip.

"I'm the amazingly awesome Prussia," he snarled, grinning, "you got a problem with that?"

"Prussia…" Germany's voice trailed off as he stared at the younger man.

"Yeah," he said, with a grin, "awesome right? I used to be called the Kingdom of Prussia until I was disbanded and become Russia's territory."

"Prussia," Germany said again, his eyes widening.

"Yeah! What's wrong with you?" Prussia said, looking at him funny. "Are you shocked by my awesomeness?"

Germany pulled Prussia into a tight hug, "Mein bruder."

Prussia laughed, "Seems like your brain is working alright."

"But you're d-"

"The d word is forbidden in my presence," Prussia said. When Germany pulled away, Prussia's face had softened, "I'm sorry that I left."

"But why did you-"

"It's complicated," Prussia waved his hand, "I don't want to talk about it. The only thing I want you to know it that as long as Berlin is the capital of Germany, I will stay standing. Though…I just want you to know something."

"What?"

"I won't be able to be by your side anymore," Prussia said.

"What, why-"

"It's the rule. I'll be here," Prussia pointed at Germany's heart, "forever and always though. Just keep that in mind. Berlin."

"Berlin."

"If Berlin stays your capital, I might have a chance of coming back," Prussia smirked.

Germany watched as Prussia began to fade, "Wait, Prussia-!"

"Berlin, remember," Prussia reminded him. "Oh and one more thing-"

But before Germany could hear, the nation woke up from his fitful sleep.


	8. Believe(Final Chapter)

Germany trailed quietly into the conference room. At the head of the table, the chair was turned to face the door. The tall man yawned and slowly trailed over. Everything was dark in that room and a thin layer of dust coated the large oak table and the chairs. He ran his hands along it, remembering the times whenever it was the after-meeting parties and they got so drunk that it barely anyone remembered. There'd always be one person that was in charge to get everyone home-it was usually Canada, Liechtenstein, Lithuania, or Ukraine. One night, everyone had gotten drunk-everyone, including the people who had been responsible to take people back. Prussia had gotten up on the table with a drunk Austria, two microphones, and an electric guitar. Prussia had handed Austria the guitar and began rapping a ridiculous song he had written while drunk. It had been all about nations rising and falling, but the actually content had been a bunch of slurred words that Prussia didn't even remember.

The tall German smiled to himself as he wandered over to the windows. He was early, a good four minutes or so. He opened the window and let the strong light stream in.

"Mein gott," came a gruff voice.

Germany turned on his heel, gun at the ready and loaded, "Who's there?"

"Geez," someone stood up in the shadows, scratching his head, "What's with that attitude?"

"Who are you?" Germany growled.

"You don't recognize me?" came the steady reply.

The sound of footsteps echoed in the empty hall. Germany felt sweat beading at his brow. Who was this man? He felt so familiar, yet Germany couldn't put his finger on it. He, the man, was a foot or so shorter than Germany. He wore combat boots, from what Germany heard, and a familiar uniform that was colored a navy-ish blue.

"Germany, are you in here?" Austria asked, pushing open the door.

Germany turned his head, gun still pointed at the shadow. Austria wore plain, black skinny jeans, and a black blazer over a blue v-neck shirt. His glasses were a more modern design, a dark blue that framed his stoic eyes.

"What are you doing?" Austria asked, approaching the taller nation.

Germany's gaze turned back to the other. Austria's followed and his eyes widened, "P-Prussia…Prussia is that you?"

Germany lowered his gun, but just barely.

The figure emerged from the shadows, red eyes flashing and hair a little over grown. His back straight and a large smirk on his face. He had his arms crossed over his chest and a smug, satisfied look on his face as he stepped forwards towards the two shocked figures.

"Hey dudes, how's it…shaking," America stopped in his tracks, causing Canada to bump into the slightly older brother. The taller of the two stepped forward a few paces, "Prussia."

"Hey kid," Prussia smiled, smiling slightly.

The three, or four if you count Canada, stood there, shocked. Germany dropped his gun and stumbled forward.

"Hey West," Prussia walked forward and hugged his brother, "You've gotten skinnier."

Germany didn't speak. This was his brother. This was the man that raised him to be a great empire and then a nation. The man that let him take out the stress and anger over small things. The man that took him out to drink. This man was his big brother and he, Germany, was his little brother.

"Oh, you're back," Germany said.

"You cried," Prussia said, an obvious smirk on his face. "I know you did."

Germany rolled his eyes, "Didn't you tell me not to?"

"Human instincts are stronger than rules," Prussia smiled, pushing away from his brother. "Are you glad I'm back?"

"Yes," Germany smiled, "Of course."

"Atta boy!" Prussia laughed, then was tackled into a hard hug by the American.

"Prussia," America said, pushing away with a smile. "Oh my god! That's great! I can't wait to tell the others, come on Canada!"

America grabbed his brother by the wrist and ran to get the others.

"Before, when you said 'one more thing'? What was it?" Germany asked when everyone, including Austria, had left to tell the news.

"To believe," Prussia smiled. "Nations live because their beliefs are still there. That's just what I wanted to tell you."

Germany knew then, that even if he faded, as long as his friends remembered him then he'd be able to survive.

_~The End~_


End file.
